


forget-me-not & goldenrod

by 8glassesofmilkin3minutes



Series: in another life [2]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Cottagecore, Faerie AU, Henry has a kinda pet fox named Art, I took hella liberty with the word “faerie” be warned, M/M, Some sexy times, all of Alex’s clothes are basically shalwar kameez, and lives in a large tree, and lube too, as my friend so acutely described it:, ellen is the mayor of a village, firstprince banter, he also makes clothes, he is also capable of flight, henry is a plant boi, henry makes his own makeup with forest ingredients, lots of talk of colors and flowers, luna is gay™, nature boi if you will, not-too-slow burn, some magic (just a tiny bit), sooo much physical contact I want you to BEG for a kiss, speedrun if u will; similar to the book, the settings are pretty, themes of capitalism and corruption - balanced out by a very healthy dose of cottagecore fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8glassesofmilkin3minutes/pseuds/8glassesofmilkin3minutes
Summary: On a journey into the deep woods to fetch flowers for the seamster, Rafael Luna, to make yellow dye, mayor’s son Alex discovers a strange and whimsical dwelling. And there’s something about the faerie who lives there that Alex can’t quite explain.Something alluring.Something that keeps him coming back.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Series: in another life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823899
Comments: 38
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain first gave me one single aesthetic™ scene, and soon it was a whole entire fic.

Alex has lost track of time when he notices the canopy above him has become rather sparse. The trees he does see are lush and alive, but they leave way for the sun to reach his face, to warm his cheek where a cut is still stinging. He finds himself a few steps away from a stream, a rather still one, but it’s not quite like any other stream he’s ever seen. There’s something distinctly vibrant about it. The blue of its water is almost richer than the sky at noon, and it’s sparkling. A million little flowers of all different colors are dispersed across the surface of the water, and it’s sparkling. The exhaustion must be getting to him.

Then, Alex spots it. The goldenrod. He nearly laughs out loud with joy. He trips over his own feet, just slightly, crossing the little white bridge over the stream, and reaches the expanse of grass where the plant is growing in abundance. He unclenches his fist to look at the piece of parchment Luna gave him, ink smudged with sweat, and _actually_ laughs with joy this time. After foraging through these unforgiving woods like an animal for who knows how many hours, the flowers in front of him match the drawing in his hand. Alex is on his knees, trying to pick the best bunches, when he hears the unmistakable sound of wood creaking. His head jerks up.

He’s probably just being paranoid. Countless small animals inhabit these woods. He should pluck himself some goldenrod and be off. 

Another creak.

In a flash of panic, Alex deeply regrets not dragging June or Nora along for this journey. He’s already gone and gotten his cheek cut—on his good side, no less—he can’t imagine the types of scars and bruises he’d end up with if he’d had to fight, say, a bear. There were bears in the deep woods, weren’t there? 

Alex shakes away thoughts of bears and is about to start pulling goldenrod out of the ground when he feels something soft and bushy tickle his ankle. He shrieks. He looks down to find a fox, and it makes a yipping sound that almost seems to Alex like it’s laughing at him. Which would be ridiculous, of course. But then the fox emits what is, undeniably, a chuckle. An eerily human one at that. Every prayer Alex’s parents have ever taught him floods back into his mind as he scans the trees for a branch he could easily snap off that might be effective in warding off the demon fox. 

And that’s when he gets a good look at the very tree he’s standing mere steps away from, trunk so wide it seems almost unnatural, with what looks like a cottage door carved into its surface, opening out onto a small set of curved stairs. 

“Someone lives here,” Alex realizes, horrifiedly.

“Was it the handmade bridge that gave it away?” a voice asks. Alex screams. The fox chuckles again, and he realizes this time that it isn’t the fox chuckling. It’s a man. This man descends the steps of the tree-cottage with such grace he may as well be floating, which, it becomes apparent soon enough, he is. The…man? Has a set of wings that extend smoothly from his back, not too large, barely wider than his shoulders, colored a bright, shimmery, pink. It couldn’t be…

“A faerie?”

“I’d honestly been a little afraid of _you_ when you first came dashing across the bridge, but I suppose… I shouldn’t be?” the man asks, offering Alex the softest of smiles. Somehow it fits right into place among his swooping cheekbones and strong, almost regal nose. Alex notices the man looks about as young as Alex himself.

“Don’t be alarmed,” the man reassures gently. He steps into the grass, shoeless, and walks toward Alex, who finds his own feet are rooted firmly in place. “And yes, a faerie.” 

The man is close enough to touch now, and up close he smells of rose and something else Alex remembers his mother slathering on him when he was a child. Violet oil. The man must color easily, because despite the chill breeze, his cheeks sport a striking blush, like Alex’s mothers when she applies rouge before a big public appearance. 

The man’s lips quirk up at the corners, shy but playful, as he extends a finger and pushes Alex’s chin up, closing the jaw Alex hadn’t realized he’d left open. His eyes drift toward Alex’s shoulder and widen in surprise, the soft black lining on his lids stretching as they do.

“Are you a prince?” he asks softly. 

Alex is taken aback. He takes a moment to recompose himself and offer his best mayor’s-son laugh. “Why, this would be a real fairytale then, wouldn’t it? The kings haven’t been in power for ages, no. My mother is a mayor, though. What gave it away?”

The man looks down, seemingly embarrassed. “Of course. You came from the north.” He shakes his head quickly. “But, mayor’s son! That would explain these.” He touches the three gold buttons on the shoulder of Alex’s tunic. “They’re quite beautiful.”

“Thank you. My father’s friend stitched this tunic. He’s an amazing seamster.” This brought Alex back to why he was here in the first place. “He’s why I’m here, actually. I came looking for goldenrod, so he can make his yellow dye.” 

The man cocks his head and purses his lips, not saying anything. Alex scrambles to decipher the expression. 

“Is it—is it yours? I can trade you something. What do you require?” he attempts, realizing he has no idea what faeries need to live. 

“The forest belongs to no one,” the man says. “I’m happy to share it.”

Alex flashes him a grin. “Thank you.” He kneels down again, then looks up at the man. “Any suggestions for how to pick ones that will color the best?” 

“Actually, yes,” the man says, kneeling down in front of him. 

Once Alex has received a short lesson in goldenrod picking, and this strange but intriguing faerie gentleman has retrieved paper to wrap the flowers in safely before Alex stows them away in his satchel, the man makes a request. 

“Since you mentioned it, Sir. There is a favor I could use.” 

“Anything,” Alex finds himself saying.

“Your father’s friend, the one you’re taking the flower to? You said he was an amazing seamster.”

“The best for miles around, but that’s just my opinion.”

This makes the faerie smile. “It’d do me well to have a change of attire, Sir. These old things may be functional, but I get bored after a while. The forest is so radiant, I wonder sometimes if I offend it by clashing so much with it.” He laughs a little and Alex has the odd passing thought that this man _is_ radiant, what with his tousled golden hair and friendly smile and silky accent, but he doesn’t share the thought. He instead observes the all-black getup the faerie dons. Terribly flattering, if Alex does admit so himself. The top climbs up his neck, and the flexible material contours to the man’s lean build, tucked into a pair of lightweight trousers that taper towards his ankle.

“I’m sure Raf could stitch up just what you’re looking for. Do you have anything particular in mind?”

The man beams and flutters back into his tree-cottage at a shocking speed, returning with two pieces of parchment that Alex recognizes from Raf’s designer, Oliver’s, workstation as garment patterns. 

“You have a hand for these things,” Alex remarks, impressed.

The man’s gaze flitters away. He shrugs.

“And what’s that?” Alex asks, pointing at the man’s other hand.

“Oh, right!” He takes the small kerchief he brought out and leans over into the stream, wetting the cloth, then wringing the water out of it. He brings it to Alex’s cheek, the one Alex cut earlier, and swipes the cut gently. The stream water spreads a delicious cooling sensation across Alex’s skin. He then works on adhering a small piece of gauze to the area. His tongue slips out of his mouth just slightly in concentration, and Alex finds himself staring. 

“Did you get this on the way here?”

“What?”

“The cut.”

“Oh, yes. The journey here was truly treacherous. Full of dangerous obstacles and wild beasts to fend off and conquer. Definitely not for the faint of heart.”

“Was it?” he asks, voice turning up with a smile. “And from fending off which ferocious beast, may I ask, did you earn this battle scar?”

“Branch,” Alex says.

“Branch?” 

_Bronch_ , Alex thinks, fixated on the man’s accent.

“ _Wild_ branch.” 

The man catapults into laughter, and Alex is elated, proud of himself for causing the outburst and already thinking up ways to make it happen again.

“Ah, yes, the branch,” the man says. “Famously the most forbidding creature of them all. You’ve earned my respect, Sir.” He nods his head once.

“As if I hadn’t already.” Alex serves him a winning smile. 

“Of course, how could I forget. If the initial screech when Art showed up didn’t do it, you had me when you screamed in terror at my appearance.”

Alex laughs. This man is charming. 

“Wait, Art?”

“The fox,” he explains. He then makes a sort of kissing sound and the fox, who had been curled up near the roots of the tree-cottage, trots over to where he and Alex are standing. Alex jumps back, earning him another laugh.

“Don’t worry, he’s just a big sweetheart. Aren’t you, Art?” He kneels down and scratches the fox’s chin, and the fox lets out a contented sound, like a purr. The man looks up at Alex. “Here, let him say hello to you.”

Alex kneels down hesitantly. “Hello,” he says, like a question. Art strokes Alex’s knee with his fluffy tail and rubs his nose against Alex’s palm a little before going back off to sit on his chosen tree root. _Not bad_ , Alex thinks, considering how well he fought off the urge to flee and jump into the stream.

“One last thing,” the man says, and Alex feels a strange sinking feeling at the thought of leaving that he decides not to dwell on. The man goes to pluck a few flowers from a different side of the tree and wrap them in paper he retrieves from inside. 

“Indigo,” he says to Alex. “To overdye after the goldenrod. It’ll create the green from my sketches. If that isn’t too much work.” 

Alex looks down at the neat package with a laugh. “I doubt it will be! Indigo! Raf will be so happy to see this.”

The man’s face lights up. “Wonderful! Thank you for everything, Sir!”

“Alex,” Alex says, extending a hand to shake.

The man takes it happily. His hands are soft. “Henry.” 

“Lovely meeting you, Henry. I’ll see you soon.”

Henry nods. “Soon.”

Raf gave Alex directions for both the way in _and_ out of the deep woods, not trusting Alex to reverse them properly, rightfully so. Alex starts back the way he came, the ghost of Henry’s touch on his palm and a giddy rhythm taking over his heart, already looking forward to returning to this place again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say violet oil, think baby powder. 
> 
> Comments are sweet, tell me how we’re feeling about this. Thank u for reading!! <3


	2. Measurements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it a lil hot in here, or...?  
> hints of magic ahead

Alex finds himself in the clearing once again, sooner than he’d anticipated. Two days after, in fact, with a roll of measuring tape in his pocket. He walks up to Henry’s cottage door and knocks on it, starting, then taking a deep breath when he sees the tickle against his leg was caused by Art the fox’s bushy fur.

“Er, hello, Art,” Alex attempts. “Is Henry home?”

The fox purrs and points his snout somewhere beyond the tree, then resumes his earlier business. Alex hears a flutter and sees a pile of what looks like charcoal come tumbling out of two elegant arms and down into the grass. The previously calm stream starts rushing behind him. 

“Alex!” Henry says, he does a quick turn in the air and plops himself down right in front of him. “What brings you back so soon?”

Alex’s nose catches onto Henry’s soft floral scent and he can’t help but gaze at the handsome pink glow of his cheeks. Something about his presence was so captivating, Alex found that all day for the past two days he couldn’t push thoughts of the faerie out of his mind. He already had so many questions. Where did he come from? Who was his family? And how did he ever find such a large tree to turn into a house?

“There was something Rafael needed,” Alex explains. “He and his designer took a look at your sketches. They noticed you wrote your measurements in… acorns?”

“Is that not standard?” Henry asks earnestly. 

Alex laughs. “Well, no. I mean, not in town at least. Here,” he pulls the measuring tape out of his pocket. “Would you mind if I measured you? In centimeters?” He shows Henry the tape.

Henry gasps a little. “Did you just pull that trinket out of your tunic?”

“Uh, yes. Yes I did.”

“How? Do you practice magic?”

“No!” Alex laughs. “I stowed it in my pocket.”

“I see,” Henry says, placing his hand on Alex’s hip, right near the opening of his pocket. “Sorry,” he says, pulling his hand back. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Alex answers.

Henry turns Alex’s pocket inside out, then tucks it back in. The touch leaves an odd tingling sensation on Alex’s skin. 

“My father’s clothing sometimes had pockets. Do you think the seamster could place some in mine? In the set he’s making?”

So Henry has—had?—a father. Alex adds that to his mind’s inventory. “If they’re not already in your design I’m quite sure it’d be no problem,” he says with a smile. 

“Okay then!” Henry exclaims. “You said you needed to measure me?” Henry looks at him expectantly.

“You wish to do it out here?”

“Oh, how rude of me,” he says embarrassedly. “I forgot to invite you in!”

“I don’t mean to impose—”

“Nonsense! Follow me!” Henry is about to lead the way into the cottage when he looks about like he’s forgetting something. “Right! My charcoal.” He gathers the lumps he’d dropped earlier and then holds the door open for Alex, hovering just above the little steps.

Alex finds he’d been entranced by the open and close of Henry’s wings. He pries his eyes away from the luminescent things to wonder if it'd be wise of himself to accept an invitation into the home of a strange man in the woods. But everything about Henry seems comfortable and inviting, so his instincts win out and allow Alex to trust him. Bizarrely, the interior looks even larger than could be accommodated by the girth of the massive trunk. There are several doors leading into different rooms, most of them cracked open, and an entryway on the right leading into the kitchen. There are little windows on every outer wall. Henry drops the charcoal onto what looks like a low worktable in the kitchen and leads Alex away, toward a bedroom. Almost every surface in the house sports its own assortment of little knick-knacks, Alex notices, from small pots and vases to figures sculpted from various stones and wood.

“So. Raf always prefers to take his clients’ measurements in their underclothes.”

Henry furrows his brow in question and Alex scrambles for words, realizing he’s likely come off as a pervert. Luring a man behind a closed door only to immediately ask him to undress! What was he thinking?

“It—It helps get the perfect fit, you see! No extra fabric in the way!”

“You people wear clothes under your clothes?”

“You don’t?” Alex asks, feeling his body growing warm with embarrassment, mentally scolding himself for the flagrantly ungentlemanly behavior that is discussing underclothes the second time conversing with someone. 

“I can’t imagine the function in that.”

“For, well, perspiration, or the especially sensitive bits, or—pay it no mind! Your clothing is already fitted, no need to undress!” Alex unrolls the tape and starts at Henry’s shoulders.

“To each their own, I suppose,” Henry murmurs thoughtfully.

Alex is too preoccupied with trying to settle his nerves to respond, but as it turns out, pressing his fingers against various points of Henry’s body isn’t doing much to calm him. As he records numbers on a pad of parchment he brought along, he claws through his mind for something— _anything_ —to say. 

“So, um, you were gathering charcoal?” is what he comes up with.

“Oh, yes. I was.”

They lapse back into silence for another second, and Alex is agonizingly aware of the sounds of their breathing so close to each other, the rise and fall of Henry’s chest as Alex wraps the measuring tape around it. 

“Quite a warm time of year to be stoking fires, isn’t it?”

Henry laughs softly. “Well, we do get a good chill at night. And besides, I use it for sketching. And my eyes.”

“Charcoal?” Alex asks, incredulous. “For your eyes?”

“Not directly. But mixed with gel from an aloe leaf, and a little oil to thin it out, the charcoal from the pink willow creates a very rich pigment. Smooth enough for the eyes.”

Alex makes a sound of recognition and looks up into the room’s large mirror that rests atop a wooden dresser. The lining around Henry’s lashes _is_ beautifully rich, and very smooth.

“It looks lovely on you.”

Henry’s eyes dart to the floor, and his “Thank you,” is almost inaudible.

Alex drops to his knees to get the tape around Henry’s waist, and Henry takes a sharp inhale of breath.

“Oh, try not to do that. Wouldn’t want to give Raf too small a number.”

“Right. Of course.”

Alex meets two ends of the tape at Henry’s waist, just at the point he’s learned is perfect from years of watching Luna practice his craft. Henry’s breathing seems to have quickened. 

“Did you tell your friend the seamster about me?” Henry asks.

“Well, yes. But not exactly. I told him I met… a planter.”

Henry chuckles. “Not untrue.”

Alex had given Luna Henry’s sketches after staring at them for a short while himself. Somehow he hadn’t caught the hilarious and somewhat endearing detail that Henry had given his measurements in acorns. Raf had shot him a strange glance when he noticed Alex smiling at the little writing after he and Oliver brought the detail to Alex’s attention, but Alex attributed it to Luna being confused and skeptical of this whole planter-in-the-woods situation. 

“You know what’s curious, though. I mean, perhaps I’m being silly and I had just lost my way the first time around, but, on the way out of the forest—and the way in, today—the path seemed so much… less tricky. Almost like there was a trail of sorts that I hadn’t noticed the first time.”

“Understandably so. The forest does hear me.” 

Alex looks up from where he’s measuring the length of Henry’s hip to his ankle. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m a faerie,” Henry says simply.

“Right.”

“So the forest didn’t know if you were a threat, yesterday. But then you earned my trust, so it let you in. And out.”

“Did you...tell? The forest. That I’m not a threat.”

“The forest listens closer than to just what I say.”

Alex nods, trying to look like he understands, while he’s really just proud of himself for not bubbling over and possibly overwhelming Henry with all the questions that have just surfaced in his mind.

Once he’s got all the measurements he needs, he gathers up his things and Henry leads him out the door. He hovers from the step as he waves goodbye, then exclaims, “Don’t forget about the pockets!”

Alex laughs and pulls the parchment out of his own pocket, making a note and flashing Henry a thumbs-up before he steps onto the bridge. The aquamarine stream isn’t rushing the way it was when Henry first saw him at his door, but flowing at a gentle, steady pace.


	3. I Suppose I Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex brings Henry his newly-stitched set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read the last two chapters and left comments, you gave me an amazing boost of motivation.

Alex stares at his reflection in the redwood vanity across from his bed as he removes the piece of gauze he’s been wearing as a replacement for the one Henry put on him about a week ago. He drops it into a small wastebasket—also redwood, to match. Alex’s mother, Ellen’s, position as mayor meant a house full of pieces like these. Fine polished wood for the bedrooms, intricate woven rugs for the sitting area, and thick brocade curtains for every set of windows in the house.

Alex touches his cheek. A faint trace of a scar is still visible, and Alex thinks it makes him look a bit rugged. 

He turns to look at the wall clock. He should be off to Luna’s now. 

“See you later,” he says to June and Nora, grabbing his satchel off a hook on the wall. They’re sitting together on his bed, discussing the trip west June is soon to take to report on a wave of political reforms occurring there.

“Where are you going?” Nora asks.

“To pick up clothes from Luna,” Alex responds, halfway out the door. 

“So you’ll be back for lunch,” says June.

“Uh, a little late. I have to make a delivery to the planter.”

“A delivery? Don’t Luna and Oliver have apprentices to do that?” June asks.

“Um, well, I thought I should deliver this one myself,” he says, taking another step away from his room.

“Wait. You’re going back into the deep woods, _voluntarily_?” 

Nora pipes up. “Oh please, June, those aren’t even the deep woods. I bet he barely stepped foot in raw dirt.”

“Excuse me! I have the mark to prove it!” Alex says, pointing to his face. 

“Yes, from a branch. There are branches an arm’s length from your window. And that’s the wrong cheek you’re pointing at, Alex.”

“I—“ he sputters. “Good afternoon, both of you!” he says with finality. He swings the door shut and hurries downstairs.

The little bell rings as he throws open the door to Rafael’s shop. He’s sitting there at the main workbench, intently tending to a piece of white fabric, a sewing needle between his teeth. Alex plops himself down on the seat across from him. Raf remains unfazed, not even looking up. 

“How you doin’, mouse?” 

“Flourishing. My practical law progress check is first thing next week and I’m spending my day delivering clothes to an eccentric planter in the woods.”

“You’re not worried at all?”

“I mean, he seemed nice enough the last two times. Harmless, even.”

Raf looks up at Alex now. “I meant about your progress check.”

“Oh, that old thing? I’ll wing it,” he shrugs.

Raf gives him a look before reverting his attention back to the fabric before him. 

“So is the set ready?” Alex asks. 

“Mhm.”

“Did you remember my touches?”

“See for yourself. Third shelf.”

Alex walks over to Luna’s wall of finished orders. It’s a long set of open squares, rows and rows of them, the majority filled with a finished item or two. Muscle memory leads his hand to the niche where Henry’s completed set is waiting. The label under the niche reads Claremont-Diaz, one of the few that have a name instead of a number. Their family isn’t just repeated clients, but constant ones.

He unfolds the bottoms to see that Luna did add the detail he’d asked for. In fact, he brought the idea right out of Alex’s imagination and into his hands, as usual. The whole set is a work of art, and there’s something distinctly Henry about it, Alex feels, even though he’s only met the man twice. He catches himself playing out Henry’s delighted reaction in his head when Raf’s words snap him out of it.

“I like his style, you know?”

Alex turns to face him.

“Ollie liked it, too. There’s something fresh and free about the whole look. Thought it was a women’s pattern at first, actually. And the slit on the spine was an… interesting touch.” 

Oliver appears then, out of one of the back rooms, and greets Alex, who responds with a smile and a wave. He walks up behind Luna and places a hand on his shoulder. 

“That’s beautiful, Ellie,” he whispers.

Raf places one hand over his. “You’re a fawner.”

“If it gets the work done,” Oliver says with a playful smile. 

“Oh, get back to your sketchbook,” Raf says, returning the smile and pushing Oliver’s hand away. 

Something about this little duo always made Alex happy inside. He loved the idea that two colleagues could work so well with one another, could click together so perfectly. 

“Well, Raf,” Alex says, the set wrapped up in a brown sheet in his arms and tied with two pieces of twine. “Goodbye for now. Thank you for everything.”

“Oi, mouse. Before you go. Could you ask your friend for a few more bunches of goldenrod? These yellow looks are selling like mad, both casual and formal. This isn’t like yellow dyes I’ve used in the past. The shades are almost…”

“Ethereal?” Oliver offers.

“Ethereal. Ollie here thinks yellow is going to be a major trend this season. Tell the man I can trade him whatever he wants.” 

“Sure thing, Raf,” Alex says, the little bell ringing as he opens the door. He pauses for a second, registering how Luna referred to Henry. “And he’s not my friend.”

•

Alex walks through the last few steps of the thick tree-lined path that lead to the clearing, rays of bright yellow sunlight filtering through the leaves. He pushes a low branch out of his way and eyes it with his best look of warning.

Soon he’s over the bridge and Henry is opening his door, and a waft of spices and warmth follow him out. His gaze immediately falls on the package in Alex’s arms. 

“Alex! I’m so glad you’re here.”

Alex finds himself smiling along with him. 

“It’s quite warm in there right now,” Henry says, and Alex catches sight of a metal pot sitting over a fire in the kitchen. “Here, sit.” Henry sits on the doorstep, and his wings seem to sit with him. They fold downwards like they’re resting, too. Alex joins him. 

“How was the walk here?” Henry says, still staring at the package. 

“It was just fine. Here, take it!” Alex laughs. “You haven’t stopped staring at it since you opened the door.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been so excited.” He takes the package from Alex’s arms, then meets his eyes. “I just had to make sure you were uninjured. There’s no more audacious foliage I need to give a stern talking-to, is there? Perhaps an especially pointy mushroom?”

“You’re horrible, Henry! Open the cursed thing!” He gestures towards the wrapped clothing.

Henry laughs and starts unknotting the twine piece by piece, then unfolds the brown paper. Alex has never seen someone treat something disposable with such meticulous care. He finds himself anxious and excited for Henry’s reaction. 

“Oh, my!” Henry exclaims, jumping to his feet—higher, actually, hovering just above ground—and holding the pale green blouse up to his torso. He spins around once, and Alex is elated. “This is gorgeous.” He places it down on the unfolded paper and fingers the layered ruffles on the cuff of one sleeve, then those on the collar. The blouse comes together in the back as if it’s an open piece of cloth, joined at the top and bottom, each point adorned with a small button that’s covered in the same pale green fabric as the rest of the top, but leaving an open space down the back that one could slip an appendage through. When it’s sitting on the ground, there’s no visible gap, but on Henry, his wings will be able to slip through.

“The indigo overdye is flawless,” Henry says. “It’s the exact color I’d imagined it to be.”

“Did I or did I not tell you Raf was a miracle worker?”

“Something along those lines. But you also tried to tell me you were a brave and valiant soul who conquered the unforgiving forces of nature that came in the way of your mission.”

“Have to impress the ladies somehow,” Alex says. 

“I’m not a lady,” Henry says matter-of-factly, and quickly moves onto inspecting the trousers. 

_I know that_ , Alex thinks. Of course he knows that. 

The style of the bottoms is similar to the ones Henry currently wears, but their cream color makes the small pleats at the waistband appear more defined. And, of course, “Pockets!” Henry says gleefully, spotting the opening at the hip of one leg. Alex waits, the sounds of the forest and the stream filling the silence. He suddenly finds himself second-guessing the addition he’d asked Raf to make. Did Henry want exactly what he’d drawn out and nothing else? Would he not appreciate Alex editing his design? What if he—

Henry holds the trouser up and looks closely at it. 

“This…” he starts. He shifts his head out from behind the pants to look at Alex. “My goldenrod couldn’t have paid for this, Alex.”

“Do you like it?” Alex asks tentatively. 

“They’re so beautiful, but I—”

“Consider it a gift, please.” 

Henry turns the pants back around, and Alex sees them again, four round gold buttons, one on each pocket, holding them closed, and one on each ankle. They’re all engraved with small, intricate designs, and they catch the light as Henry holds the garment up.

Henry won’t stop staring at him, and Alex is becoming maddeningly acquainted with Henry’s eyes' exact shade of soft blue. 

“I asked Raf to add them, since you seemed to really like the ones on my tunic from before. They’re paid for, you don’t have to worry. It’s—it’s a gift,” Alex says again, feeling strangely vulnerable.

“Oh, I could,” Henry clutches the pants to his chest and his wings flutter. “I could just—Could I hug you?”

Alex blinks in surprise but finds he’s not opposed. “Of course,” he laughs, and Henry wraps his arms around Alex, his ever-present violet oil and rose scent mixing with the spices coming through the open cottage door. Alex remembers his earlier words to Luna, _he’s not my friend_ , and feels a stab of guilt. 

“Thank you very much,” Henry says, and his broad shoulders remind Alex that Henry is quite comprehensively larger than him.

“You’re most welcome,” he says as they pull apart. “Also, Raf wanted me to tell you he and his designer loved the goldenrod. They’d like more, if you’re willing. He’d like to know what you want in return.”

“That’s wonderful,” Henry says. “Here,” he stands and offers Alex a hand. Alex takes it and rises as well. “Do you remember what I told you about picking the ones with the best pigment?”

“I’d like to think that I do,” Alex says with a smile, and Henry retrieves a sheet to wrap them while Alex crawls near the edge of the stream and starts plucking a few stems from their root.

“Good choice,” Henry says, joining him. As they sift through them, Alex hears a melodious chirping grow nearer and nearer until a small pudgy robin rests itself on one of the railings of the little bridge. It’s not like any robin he’s ever seen before. Its belly and chest are almost fuschia, contrasted by the black of its wings and face. When it turns its head and chirps, it seems to be looking directly at Henry. Henry must think the same thing, because he looks up at it as well.

“How do you do?” he asks. The robin chirps once then comes to sit on Henry’s thigh, which, Alex realizes, is quite fit. He looks away from the thigh and focuses on the bird. It lets out a quiet note and bends its round little head in Alex’s direction. 

“Alex,” Henry says.

Alex looks up. “Yes?”

“I was just telling him your name,” he whispers.

“Oh.” As Alex leans forward and runs his hands through the flower-dense grass near the stream, the greenery wet and satisfying between his fingers, the robin darts away and disappears through the trees. 

“He was quite pretty,” Alex remarks.

“Definitely,” Henry responds, wrapping up the final flowers and handing them to Alex. As he’s placing them neatly in his satchel, Henry hands him a few more that Alex realizes he’s had wrapped since he returned from his cottage with the paper. 

“Some more indigo. It’s not just good for overdyeing, it compliments yellows very nicely. Or, Raf can use it for whatever he needs. It’s the least I can do. Consider it a thank you for that magnificent set.” 

Alex smiles and places the indigo in his satchel as well. “I’ll be sure to let him know. Now, for you. What do you need?”

“Well, I,” Henry tugs at his collar. “Although the forest has pretty much everything I need when it comes to feeding myself, there’s something I’ve been wanting for.”

Alex nods.

“Cacao seeds. It’s ironic,” Henry laughs. “My best friend’s father owns the Nigerian Cacao Company. You’d think I might get an endless supply.”

“But you don’t?”

“Percy swore off eating cacao when he was eight years old. Said he’d have nothing to do with it, that he’d had enough for a lifetime.”

“And he stuck to his word?” Alex asks, wondering how old this Percy is now.

“No,” Henry laughs. “It lasted until the next shipment.”

Alex laughs with him. “Children can be silly.”

“But by then he _couldn’t_ have it. Developed an allergy.”

“Oh, dear.”

Henry nods. “So he doesn’t keep any in his home. Anyway, the shipments come into town first, and I’m quite sure one was made rather recently. Do you think you’d be able to bring me some of that?”

“Yes, I’m sure that’d be just fine with Raf.”

“Splendid,” Henry says, brushing his hands off on his legs. “Well, I’d better get checking on my stew. You should stay for some!” He looks up at the sun. “It’s nearly lunchtime.”

“I can’t,” Alex says. “My sister’s making lunch today, and I wouldn’t dare miss it. But thank you so much for the offer.”

“Oh, well.” Henry’s quiet for a moment. “Take some water, at least. I noticed you never bring a canteen with you. Even the most fearsome adventurer needs to stay hydrated, doesn’t he?” Henry asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

Alex grins. “I suppose he does,” he responds, not realizing until now that he’s actually quite parched.

“It’s fresh,” Henry says, leaning over and scooping the stream water into his joined hands.

The water glitters in the sunlight like there are flecks of pearl floating in it, reflecting all kinds of colors, and Alex notes the single pink hydrangea bobbing on its surface, scooped up into Henry’s hand from amongst the plethora of vibrant little flowers in the stream. 

Henry brings his cupped hands to Alex’s lips, and Alex realizes he means for him to drink. 

So he does, and tiny drops of water spill through Henry’s fingers and onto both of their knees. Their faces are so close, and they’re looking at each other, and something about being this close to Henry while looking into his eyes seems almost too intense. But there’s something about it that he likes, and Henry isn’t looking away, so he doesn’t either. 

The water tastes like something out of a dream, crisp on Alex’s tongue but smooth in his throat, and when he finishes it, he follows the inexplicable impulse to pluck the tiny leftover flower from Henry’s hand—observing how terribly soft Henry’s skin is in the process—and tuck its little stem into a lock of Henry’s golden hair. 

And gently tuck the lock behind Henry’s ear, for good measure.

Henry has always seemed to have a rosy glow about him, but Alex could swear he sees the color darken and spread to Henry’s ears.

“Since… you’re not able to stay today,” Henry begins as the two of them rise from the grass. “I suppose.” He falters, then sticks his chin out a little. “I suppose you’ll have to come again and try some of what I’ll cook up with the cacao.” He ends his sentence with a smile that manages to come off almost suave.

Alex looks at him and finds himself returning the smile. “I suppose I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had the aesthetic™ scene I based the entire fic around. It was Alex sippin' the water from Henry's hands. I can't WAIT for y'all to see the next chapterrr.
> 
> For your viewing pleasure: 
> 
> Goldenrod  
>   
> [[x]](https://www.thespruce.com/am-i-allergic-to-goldenrod-1762269)
> 
> Indigo  
>   
> [[x]](https://www.etsy.com/listing/255356417/blue-wild-indigo-flower-seeds-heirloom)
> 
> Pink Hydrangea  
>   
> [[x]](https://www.almanac.com/plant/hydrangeas)
> 
> Pink Robin  
>   
> [[x]](https://innerstrength.zone/animals/the-pink-robin-is-a-very-adorable-bird-from-australia/)  
> (Isn't this chubby boi the literal definition of birb?? 🥺💖🖤)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope u enjoy <3

Alex brought Henry the cacao, which Henry then told him would take a week to be ready. That was when he realized Henry’s offer wasn’t just him being hospitable. The two of them were actually going to just… spend time together. 

Alex realized he’d been hoping that was the case, he just hadn’t wanted to let himself assume. 

“Thank you for the notes.” 

Alex barely registers his classmate’s words before she drops the parchment on his desk and starts to leave the lecture hall with a friendly punch to Alex’s shoulder. By the time Alex opens his mouth to respond, she’s out the door. Alex had been staring out the arched window for most of the duration of today’s lesson, absentmindedly watching the sunlight mingle with the dandelions that lined the edges of the university building. He was going back to the forest today. To Henry.

He was looking forward to it, so he wasn’t sure why the idea made him so… jittery. Perhaps it was because he was making a new friend for the first time in a long time. They _were_ becoming friends, after all, since Alex wasn’t meeting him on business for Raf this time. Yes, that must be why.

Alex’s stepfather, Leo, seems to eye him up and down as he’s on his way out of the house. Alex glances at himself in the foyer mirror.

“Big plans tonight?” Leo asks.

“Just a little, you know, thing.” Alex gestures vaguely, wondering why he decided to speak at all.

Leo doesn’t press the subject. “Have fun,” he says.

“Thank you. I should be back before sundown.”

Leo just nods, and Alex slips out the door.

It’s not until Alex is about to step into the clearing that he considers, with a start, that he might be overdressed. He’s wearing one of his finer tunics, black, with large patches of intricate white embroidery. He’d gone through the trouble of setting his hair with pomade, and when he did, he’d been very pleased with how it looked. Now he wonders if it’s just too much for the occasion. As he’s contemplating running a hand through his hair to undo it a bit, he spots Henry, pale green teapot in hand, crossing in front of his cottage door. Henry spots him back, and as he does, the light catches on his eyelids, and they shimmer. 

“Alex, you’re here! Everything’s just about ready.”

Henry is dressed in his set from Raf, and somehow, on Henry, it looks even more ethereal than it did before.

Alex is no longer worried about his state of dress.

Alex crosses the bridge and greets Henry back with a smile, and is expecting to be invited in, when Henry rises off of his feet and through the canopy without warning, disappearing somewhere above the trees. 

Alex finds himself rooted in place, stunned. Until now, he’d only ever seen Henry use his wings to hover a slight distance aboveground. 

“It’s all set up,” Alex hears through the leaves. “You can come join me.” 

Alex… isn’t sure what to do. 

Is Henry sitting on a branch somewhere up there? He supposes Henry means for Alex to follow him, so Alex grabs onto the trunk of the tree, then looks around for somewhere to place his foot, realizing as he does this that he has absolutely no idea how to climb a tree, and is a little too embarrassed to ask. Alex grabs onto the nearest branch instead, presuming that will give him better leverage than the nondescript expanse of bark. He grunts a little as he finds a spot to prop his foot against, making an attempt to push himself up. He loses his grip on the branch and tumbles onto the soft, dewy grass. 

Examining his clothing to ensure it hasn’t torn, he slips his tunic off over his head and drapes it over the railing of Henry’s front entrance. He’s about to try again when he hears rustling from among the leaves.

“Are you coming?”

All of a sudden, Alex is face-to-face with Henry. Except Henry is upside-down, knees slung over a branch as he hangs there, and his eyes go a bit wide. Alex gets a better look at those eyes, different today, with no lines of black but rather painted— _powdered?_ —a smooth combination of shimmering gold and pale green that matches his blouse. It looks soft. Elegant.

Alex realizes he’s staring, and neither of them have spoken for a moment.

Henry blinks and shakes his head a bit, looking away from somewhere near Alex’s torso. His voice is uncharacteristically high when he says, “Oh, I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “It completely slipped my mind that you couldn’t just fly up here.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can… figure this out. I think.” 

Henry’s smile in response looks unconvinced. “Here,” he says. “Why don’t you.” He reaches his arms out, as if to finish the sentence.

Alex takes one of Henry’s hands, expecting to be helped up, but instead, both of Henry’s firm arms wrap around Alex’s bare waist, and Alex finds himself being fully lifted off the ground. 

He yelps a little and wraps his legs around Henry, and he hears Henry laugh as they shoot through the leaves and branches. Henry then places Alex down on a red and white checked cloth. Henry sits down next to Alex, an assortment of food between them, crosses his legs and starts to pour tea out of the teapot and into a small glass cup near Alex, nonchalantly. The simple, sloshing sound of tea pouring into the cup makes a little incredulous laughter rise out of Alex.

It takes him a moment to register that he’s sitting _on top_ of a tree, and Henry has laid out an entire picnic for the two of them up here. The sun is warm against his bare shoulders and chest, and the sound of the stream flowing is fainter up here, replaced by the twittering of birds and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

“Tea?” Henry asks, holding the little cup out to Alex.

Alex laughs again and shakes his head in disbelief. “Sure. I’d love some.” Alex looks at the small sprig floating amongst the cubes of ice in the amber-colored liquid and asks, “Lavender?”

“Indeed.”

They clink their cups together with a smile, and Henry begins offering Alex an assortment of finger foods, one by one—vegetable pies eaten in three or four bites, short skewers of stacked white cheeses and greens. _Then_ a variety of colorful little tarts, with firm crusts and drizzles and berries and accents, and Alex gets to try the chocolate ones Henry made with the cacao he brought him. They’re rich and creamy and bursting with flavor.

As they eat, there’s movement from Henry’s pocket and Alex curiously spots a ball of fur peeking out from the cream linen. He asks Henry about it, and Henry strokes the little thing. 

“It’s a head!” Alex realizes.

“She’s just sleeping,” Henry explains gently. 

“Is _this_ what you wanted pockets for?”

“I wanted them for lots of things,” Henry shrugs.

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

The peachy tint of Henry’s cheeks turns pinker, and he looks away from Alex’s eyes. Alex leans over and nudges his shoulder, and it makes Henry smile. 

And that makes Alex’s chest flutter.

Alex is reaching for another tart, and Henry is explaining how he found the baby rabbit that is now in his pocket, and _god_ Alex doesn’t know if he’ll survive another shock, because—

“That’s the second surprise head I’ve seen today!” Alex yells, as a man—another faerie, actually, with glittering orange wings, much noticeably larger than Henry’s—pokes his head through the leaves of the tree and right near where Henry and Alex are sitting.

“I’ve been calling out for you, mate, and I looked— _oh._ ” The man’s eyes fall on Alex for a moment. “Is _this_ the one you were speaking to me about—”

“ _Now, now!_ ” Henry says, louder than is natural, pushing the man’s head back down into the leaves. Alex hears a muffled, “ _Ow, easy._ ” before the faerie appears again, rubbing his head, and rising further, wings fluttering as he hovers near the picnic setup—well, what remains of the picnic setup.

“Percy, this is Alex. Alex, Percy,” Henry says in a rushed voice. “Now that we’ve all met, Perce, if you wouldn’t mind leaving us be.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind at all,” Percy says, taking on a strangely suggestive tone of voice. “But, Henry, you know you’ll have to fill me in later. Real handsome this one—”

“Off with you now!” Henry cuts him off, rising into the air and grabbing one of Percy’s arms, dragging him beneath the canopy as Alex notices that, despite Percy seeming of similar stature to Henry when his head first appeared from between the leaves, when he and Henry are side by side, there’s a delicateness to Percy that Henry doesn’t have. Henry is actually taller, somehow. It’s a weird dissonance that Alex doesn’t know what to make of, the same way he isn’t sure what to make of the entire exchange between Percy and Henry that he just witnessed. And who or what had Percy been referring to as handsome?

Henry returns to Alex’s side, and Alex can’t help but reach for the dish of tarts again. He knows he’s taking several helpings, and he knows he’s being a bit messy. And shirtless. At home this would’ve been a travesty, this sort of abandonment of etiquette coming from the mayor’s son, but Henry is indulgent and seems delighted by Alex’s looseness and his eager enjoyment of all that Henry’s made.

Alex doesn’t know if it’s the food, or if it’s Henry, or if it’s how far away his responsibilities seem while on top of a tree in the deep woods _with_ Henry, but he tells Henry how he’s feeling. And Henry responds by telling Alex that he’s more than welcome to come again.

“You know, it’s exciting yet a bit _scary_ to be looking at the forest from above, Henry. I mean, I assume you’re used to it, but, on this tree, isn’t it possible to just… fall through?” Alex asks.

“You needn’t worry about that. Like I told you, the forest hears me.”

Alex recalls that Henry mentioned something of the sort when he’d come to take his measurements. “About that, I still don’t completely understand what you mean.”

Henry opens his mouth, then closes it, holding his chin in thought. “Ah,” he says, then lays a hand down on the leaves beneath them, and they start to tremble wildly. Alex cries out and tumbles onto his back, sure that he’s going to fall through, just as he feared, but somehow it feels as though the branches have shifted; come together beneath him to form a bed that keeps him on top.

Once the shaking stops and Alex manages to sit upright, he sees Henry giggling as if he intended that to happen. And despite the initial shock of fear, Alex finds himself laughing along, a little exhilarated.

“How did you do that?” Alex asks.

“The forest has a sense for what I need. Both the plants and the animals. They help me.”

“That’s kind of amazing,” Alex says, trying to recall the bits of faerie lore he’d learned in school when he was younger. The concept sounded vaguely familiar. “Your graceful demeanor is deceiving, though. You’re a scamp,” Alex accuses, playfully.

Henry flashes him an innocent smile that’s offset by the mischievous glint in his eye.

Alex finally asks Henry some specifics about the way he interacts with the forest, and they end up in deep conversation that confirms some of what Alex was taught, but dispels some as well. As they talk, and Alex downs the second cup of iced tea Henry pours him, the colors of the sky start to change, pinks and yellows appearing on the horizon, and Alex remembers what he told Leo about coming home before sundown. He’s about to say something about it, when Henry starts to speak, a little hesitant.

“I really hope this doesn’t sound too odd, but,” he pauses, and his eyes dart down toward Alex’s torso. “I’m always searching for a unique canvas, and I’d love to paint… you.”

Alex’s breath catches in his throat. “You mean…?”

“I mean,” Henry reaches out and places his fingers on Alex’s belly, looking into Alex’s eyes, a question on his face. His hand is soft and warm against Alex’s skin, and it’s all Alex can focus on. “Over here. Would that be okay?”

“Sure,” Alex replies, even though he’s not so _sure_ what he’s signing up for. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to be away from Henry right now, especially not with the way the press of Henry’s fingers against his abdomen is making him feel. 

When Henry removes them, Alex is achingly aware of their absence. 

Then Henry rises, and flies over to Alex, and Alex knows this time to hold on tight.

They descend, slowly, and Henry leaves Alex standing alone in the grass for a moment as he goes back up and returns with his dishes and things gathered in the picnic cloth. 

“Follow me.”

Alex does. 

Henry leads them inside; they pass by Alex’s discarded tunic on the way in. Alex watches Henry leave their teacups beside the washbowl in the kitchen, and shake the cloth out into the grass, fold it up neatly and place it in a cabinet. He then disappears into one of the cottage’s many rooms. Alex sits on the kitchen floor and quietly takes in the details of Henry’s home all the while. 

When Henry returns, he’s accompanied by a basket filled with little pots full of brightly colored paints, and brushes of varying sizes and colors. He’s no longer wearing his green blouse, but a loose, black top, short-sleeved, that looks worn and is covered in splatters of hardened paint.

Alex considers saying something, but as Henry pulls a mortar and pestle out from a high cabinet and starts grinding a funny-looking root vegetable into an orange pulp, the silence hanging between them feels almost mesmeric, and Alex doesn’t want to break it. 

Henry looks over at Alex with a smile, and the setting sun washes over him in the most remarkable way, reflecting off his eyelashes, his wings, his eye paint, the fine golden hairs across his bare arms. Alex notices, seeing Henry’s arms bare for the first time, the sparse pattern of light brown moles that cover them. In that moment, Alex feels a tug inside of him, and it’s not unfamiliar, but it leaves him unsure. _What does it mean that he feels that tug for Henry?_ He wants to get closer to him. He wants to know that his gentle expression isn’t just a mirage, and that Henry is _real_ , as real as the touch on his belly just moments ago. He thinks about feeling that touch again, and in his imagination it’s more, _longer_ this time.

Henry comes over to sit by Alex and starts squeezing the juice from the pulp with his fingers, and offers Alex some, tells him to try, and they sit there, squishing this mushy vegetable, leaving the juice in the mortar and the pulp on the worktable. Henry casually pops a piece in his mouth, and Alex considers before doing the same, instantly regretting it as the sharp, tanginess hits his tongue.

Henry sees Alex grimace and laughs, and Alex does, too.

When Henry is done, he mixes the orange liquid with a small pot full of thin paste, and adds it to his basket of paints. 

“Come with me.”

Alex follows Henry out, and as they venture beyond Henry’s tree, Alex is blown away by what’s on the other side.

“How didn’t I know this was just behind your home?”

It’s a vast stretch of goldenrod, nearly every inch of the grass covered in it. Henry tells Alex how this patch is the largest for miles, and he’s responsible for tending to it. They eventually find themselves out of the clearing, in a thick tangle of trees. Alex’s hand has somehow found its way into Henry’s as Henry leads the way, and Alex finally asks, “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere where we can see the horizon.”

That somewhere doesn’t end up being too far. A small way past the trees, the thick forest comes to an abrupt end to make way for a vast expanse of low, rolling hills, and a lake off to the distance, presumably the one Henry’s stream flows into.

Henry places his basket in the grass and tugs on Alex’s hand gently. “Sit.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Henry asks, when they’re both on the ground and he’s pulling a few of the little pots out of his basket.

Alex wonders if Henry is talking about the sunset, the one that’s transitioned into purple and orange from its earlier pink and yellow, or the hills, that look gentle and lush and inviting, like a cushion of green, or the water in the distance or perhaps Henry himself, as he swirls a wide brush around in some paint and all of a sudden—

Alex chuckles and pulls away reflexively, a splatter of paint left behind on his abdomen. 

_So_ this _is what he meant by “paint you.”_

“What?” Henry asks with a smile. “Are you ticklish?”

“Perhaps.”

Henry glides the tip of his paintbrush across the same spot of Alex’s skin and this time, laughing, Alex grabs Henry’s wrist to stop him. 

“You—you’ll have to do it with more force. Don’t just tickle the bristles against me.”

“Okay. I can do that,” Henry says, but he looks impish, as if he’s filing Alex’s sensitive spots away, the way Nora and June do with the intention to use them later.

Henry’s wings rest limply at his back as he loses himself in a calm concentration, it’s not long before it becomes apparent that Henry’s strokes and blots are forming the sunset he and Alex are watching, and Alex starts to ask Henry how he learned to paint.

“I think perhaps I may have gotten it from my father. He was quite skilled at lapidary art; took it on when he got older. But paint, specifically, I fell into on my own.”

Alex notes Henry talking about his father in the past tense, but decides not to inquire further. He asks Henry more about painting, instead, but ends up learning more about his father, anyway, when Henry tells a story of when he was a child and decided on a whim to paint swirls and scribbles over his bedroom wall, then feared he might get in trouble, so he covered the spot with a large stack of books.

“I’d thought my plan was foolproof, but my father came one day from a market with the largest brushes I’d ever seen and asked if I wanted to paint my room. I thought it was a wonderful coincidence at the time, not realizing until years later that my awkward stack of books wasn’t exactly discreet.”

Sitting on the edge of the woods as the sky goes dark and stars start to appear, paint drying on his stomach, Alex feels a warm fondness for the image in his mind of a small Henry, excited to wash his bedroom walls in color with his father.

Henry sets his brush aside at last, and brushes his hands off on his shirt.

“It’s done.”

Alex stands, taking in what he can of the painting in the moonlight. Alex turns to Henry and spreads his arms out. 

“Look how pretty I am,” he says.

Henry laughs, the apples of his cheeks rising, highlighted by the moon, and tucks his hands into his pockets, his rabbit friend having left their side some time ago. “You already were. But I’m very glad you like it.”

Henry’s words prompt that damned stutter in Alex’s chest yet again.

“Shall we head back? I’d like to see it in a mirror.”

“Sure.”

Henry gathers his things and hangs his basket on one arm, taking Alex’s hand again with his other, even though Alex is pretty sure he knows the way now. 

It’s still comforting, though, in the dark, having something to hold onto.

The woods feel different this late at night. Henry lights a few lamps as they come inside, and Alex admires Henry’s work in the mirror, a flurry of blended colors tumbling into each other, just like the sky was earlier. Every twist and turn of his body feels funny with the hardened layer of paint that covers his chest to his waist.

“I wouldn’t want any paint to rub off on that tunic of yours,” Henry says, stowing his paintbrushes away in a closet. “I could wash you off in the stream before you go.”

His words surprise Alex. “But you’ve just finished it.”

“Don’t worry, I painted on a person. I knew it was temporary.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Alex responds, still surprised that anyone would be so willing to undo such a careful work of art, and so quickly, too. But he agrees, knowing he would have no way to explain if someone at home saw it, or saw him washing it off.

The feeling he got when Henry was painting him, the feeling of their proximity, of having Henry’s attention so fully on him, on his body, surely has nothing to do with his decision.

Henry brings a small lantern and a rough, worn-looking washcloth with them as they settle down by the stream’s edge. The water is rushing tonight, splashing against the rocks in its way. But it’s glittering, as always, even with only the moon’s help. 

Henry wets the washcloth, wrings it out, and scrubs Alex’s skin, and Alex spots a pink hydrangea in the water that reminds him abruptly of what he did the second time he was here. Of what Henry did, giving him stream water to drink straight from his hands, of how they _looked_ at each other, of the pink of Henry’s cheeks afterwards. Alex realizes his breathing has quickened. He looks over at Henry, who had, Alex doesn’t know how long ago, stopped scrubbing. He’s just looking. Looking at Alex.

“Henry—”

“May I kiss you?” Henry’s gaze is piercing.

Alex barely gets out a, “Yes, please,” before Henry’s lips are on his. He’s tentative at first, and it’s adorable, but that just won’t do. So Alex brings a hand around the small of Henry’s back and vaguely registers Henry’s wings springing open, and he threads his other hand through Henry’s exceptionally downy hair, before his mind is overtaken by one thought only.

_Henry’s lips are soft._

Somehow, in their embrace, Alex ends up on his back in the grass, Henry on top of him. And when they pull apart, breathing heavily, Henry smiles at him in a purely overjoyed way Alex has never seen before. The only appropriate response seems to be to pull Henry in and kiss him again. Alex feels Henry’s shirt soak some of the water off his own body as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

Alex has never kissed a gentleman before. He supposes this is different, since Henry is a faerie, a bit ladylike in disposition. But there’s something unshakably boyish in the way Henry holds Alex’s jaw, in the way he pushes and slides his graceful pink lips against his, and the sort of heat that ignites in Alex’s chest is different from that which he’s felt when kissing a lady, but just as exciting. In a different way.

They pull apart again and Alex scoots away a bit, not wanting to alert Henry to the growing hardness between his legs.

“I think I have to go,” Alex says. He kisses Henry once again, quickly, trying to communicate that it’s not because he didn’t enjoy kissing him. “Thank you for the lovely day.”

“You’re welcome,” Henry says. “But, before you go…” He stands up and his wings flutter as he glides away swiftly, purposefully.

Alex stands and retrieves his tunic from where he discarded it hours ago, over the railing, in an attempt to climb that tree. He thinks about how imperceptible it would’ve been to him then that this is how his night might end.

When he’s clothed again, Henry returns, and he holds a bunch of flowers in one hand. Alex can just make out their color in the light streaming out from Henry’s cottage. They’re blue and miniature, about five petals to a flower, with a dot of yellow in the middle.

“For you,” Henry says.

“Oh,” Alex says, as he takes the bunch in his hand. He meets Henry’s eyes. “Thank you.” 

Henry’s quiet for a minute, then touches Alex’s jaw delicately and kisses his cheek.

“So…” Alex looks over at the path beyond the bridge, and realizes it’ll be far too dark for him to make his way home easily. He’s about to ask Henry if he can borrow a lantern, but Henry makes a quick, subtle gesture with his wrist, and in a moment a _cloud_ of lightning bugs encircle Alex, just above his head, their lights pulsing on and off.

“They’ll guide you home,” Henry says. 

Alex looks back at him one more time, before crossing the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thank you sm to absolutely everybody who is reading this  
> 2) Whoever it was who asked Beth to harass me abt updating, thank you i love u 😭❤️  
> and... 3) I have a full plot fleshed out for this fic and would love to finish it eventually, but I'm currently working on something original that I'm very into and is very important to me. I have no idea how long this might take or how frequent updates will be, but thank you so much for reading this far, and I hope some of y'all stick around for a while and possibly finish this with me, if and when that happens. I'm so so sorry to disappoint anyone who was counting on this fic being updated a little more regularly, honestly. It's just that I have to allocate my energy. And of course, I do hope to come back to write this once in a while to flex the fanfic muscle. I just felt like I had to let you guys know, so that you don't count too much on it.
> 
> Also, I have a question for you guys and if you'd like to, plz lmk in the comments or message me on tumblr @twohomessidebyside. Would you prefer that this story gets finished, but the chapters from now on are quite a bit shorter and more simple, or if I'm not able to keep up the distinct style of this, would you prefer to just, like, not have the rest?  
> It sounds weird now that I type it out 💀
> 
> ANyway, love u!!
> 
> Also, P.S. Henry was using turmeric! Just in case that's a fun fact anyone's interested in.


End file.
